Hangman
by ForeheadGoggles
Summary: A bloody game of hangman leads to one Nation's refusal to submit. Rebellion is contagious, and two disobedient countries may be more than Russia can handle.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone… Not really sure where this story came from… I just kind of woke up and it was there, so I'm writing it down before I forget any of the gory details. On which note…

Warnings: Blood, violence, language, implied yaoi, creepy Russia, Prussia in general, yandere-ish-ness, use of human names… Do I really need to go on?

Rating: I wasn't really sure what to rate this. I think I'll keep it T, because most of the general mature-ish stuff is implied. I suppose if you're squeamish you wouldn't really like it, but if that was the case, you probably wouldn't be bothering to read it anyways. Am I right?

Characters: Prussia, Russia, Lithuania, passing mentions of Poland, the Baltics, Germany and Canada.

Pairings: Blink-and-miss implied PruCan, implied LietPol, implied one-sided Russia/Lithuania, and maybe some others I've missed.

Summary: A bloody game of hangman leads to one Nation's refusal to submit. Rebellion is contagious, and two disobedient countries may be more than Russia can handle.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I just borrow the sandbox to take my favorite characters down a few pegs.

Hangman

Prussia was never really sure what to do when Russia knocked on his door. Putting up the façade of respecting his privacy was confusing, and usually meant that the huge Nation was in a terrifyingly good mood, which never ended well.

Prussia considered jumping out the two-story window for a few moments until he realized that his escape would probably mean Lithuania would have to deal with Russia. And he, Gilbert Beilschmidt, was far too awesome to let that happen. So, forcing his fists to unclench and exhaling shakily, Prussia opened the door.

"Dobroye utro, Beilschmidt," Ivan announced, striding into the room. Prussia took a moment too long translating, and in that time, Russia had gripped him by the lapels and plunked him down on the floor in front of the bigger country.

"It's not morning," Gilbert retaliated belatedly as the other man turned him around so Prussia's back was to him. _This was looking bad…_

"Take off your shirt, Beilschmidt. I'm going to show you something."

_Looking very bad… _"Really now? I thought that seizing vital regions was _my_ territory…?" Prussia let the sentence hang, turning just enough to lock eyes with Russia. Ruby met lavender as the albino Nation gave the other his most seductive smirk, fingers drifting over the top button of his shirt. "Tell you what. We'll trade. My shirt for your scarf, hmm?"

The taunting offer was abruptly cut off by a gloved hand wrapping itself around the back of his neck, and Gilbert couldn't stop the gasp of shock and pain that escaped him.

_Way too far with the scarf._

Hastily unbuttoning his black dress shirt, Prussia deliberately wrinkled it before tossing it up onto the table he was situated troublingly close to.

"You are familiar with the game hangman, Beilschmidt?" Russia began.

"'Course I am. Never lost."

"Impressive," the other man mused. "I relish the challenge."

Prussia snorted with laughter for a moment. "How many letters?" _Was this really what this early evening intrusion was all about…?_

"Six"

Another chuckle. "A. For _awesome._ Definition, me."

The three stings that sliced across his back were unexpected enough to draw a hiss of discomfort from the captive man. _Did he _seriously_ just carve the gallows into my back?_

"No A."

Unsure of what to do next, Prussia chose the next best letter he could think of. "B. For _Beilschmidt_. The guy who's gonna beat your sorry ass at this stupid game."

Bracing himself for the addition of the noose, Gilbert was surprised at the grim laughter from the other country. "Da."

He was halfway through his sigh of relief when a spiky letter B was engraved next to the faded tattoo on his shoulder blade. Biting at his lip, Prussia snapped, "If I'm gonna get carved up either way, what's the point of winning?"

"There's a lesson you're supposed to be learning here," was the reply. "The sooner you understand that, the sooner I can stop having to teach you."

"S. For _stupidCommieideas. _Definition, you."

He could feel Russia smile behind him and couldn't help the groan of pain as an elaborate S blossomed along his spine

"That the first letter?"

"Da."

He was running out of ideas and fast, so for the hell of it he chose "E, I, O, U, sometimes Y. For _vowels_. Things words need. Like you need to get l-"

Prussia's comment was halted by a stab of a noose, a circle of a face, a slash of a body, a crescent of a U and a dagger of an I. Inhaling sharply in a sound halfway between a whistle and a whimper, Gilbert twisted the fabric of his jeans in his white-knuckled hands.

_Six letters… Starting with S-U-B… Sub…Level Subtract, substance, subdue… no, that's two Us…suburban, Sub… Sub…Wait, there's an I in there… Sub…Atomic. No A. Too many letters. Submarine, submachine gun, Sub…Sub… Submit. Oh. _

Prussia went utterly still and Russia ran the tip of the knife delicately over his spine, drawing the prisoner out of his thoughts with an unsuppressed shudder. Ivan had presented a quandary, to either accept his fate as captive while winning the game or risk further torment but keep his pride as a Nation intact.

_Screw this._Gilbert cackled madly and bared his teeth in a cross between a grin and a grimace. "Q."

Russia gave a slight nod of almost-understanding and pressed the dagger slowly across a previous cut until he scraped bone and Prussia screamed in defiant agony. Gasping, he growled, "X. Z. V." Better to try and end this as quickly as possible.

The Russian obviously did not agree, and added legs and a face with deliberate slowness, every stroke cutting through layers of muscles and nerves. Prussia snarled and shook, burying his teeth in his hand to keep from crying out.

"Two more chances, Beilschmidt."

"Two?" Gilbert choked, spitting blood behind him in the general direction of Russia's face. "Seems like you've got me beat this time."

"Not quite. Letter?"

Prussia exhaled in a sound that would have been a frustrated sob in someone less awesome and grumbled, "F."

Russia said nothing and carefully traced what felt like a pair of glasses around the needle-stick eyes.

The albino couldn't help the near-hysterical laughter that escaped him. "Who's that supposed to be? America?"

Ivan chuckled along and repeated, "Not quite. Letter?"

Gilbert sighed in feigned boredom and drawled "W," in his best American accent, just to get under Russia's skin.

Russia mirrored his sigh and dragged the knife along the face in a swooping curl. A jolt of understanding flew down his spine and into his toes and Prussia felt colder than he had in years.

"W-who's t-t-that?" he bluffed, playing on the blonde Nation's skill at being forgotten.

"Your voice betrays you, Beilschmidt.

"Only because you keep your house so freakin' cold… Seriously, I'm gonna get frostbite here," Gilbert protested, reaching for his shirt.

"We aren't done here, Beilschmidt," Russia countered, twisting the smaller Nation's wrist until he squirmed away in an effort to keep the huge man from snapping his arm like a twig.

"Like hell we aren't. _I'm_ done here."

Russia didn't say a word, but Prussia felt the temperature drop several degrees and yelped in surprise as he was thrown to the floor, one arm pinned beneath him, the other still twisted to the near-breaking point.

"I _will_ break both of your arms. We aren't done here."

Prussia cringed at the words as Russia knelt, the heel of his boot digging into an old bruise. A knee pressed under his shoulder blade and he fidgeted at the texture of fabric soaked with his own blood.

"How long are you gonna make me wait?" Gilbert hissed, trying to mask the steadily building fear.

Ivan only smiled and knotted his fingers in Prussia's hair, pulling his head back until their noses were touching. Prussia's eyes were impossibly wide and bright with unshed tears. Turning his attention to the captive Nation's back he added the missing M and T with a flourish. Both countries were silent for a moment, and it was Russia who broke the stillness.

"Do you see what I was trying to teach you, Beilschmidt?"

_Obviously._

"Of course I can't _see_ it, you stupid Commie. I'm not some freak with eyes in the back of my head like you."

"Ah? That's understandable. The letters were drawn a bit jumbled. Here."

Russia placed the razor tip of the dagger to the S and began reopening the scabbing cuts, twice as deep as before. Prussia writhed and arched away from the knife, screeching wordless obscenities to a steadily dimming ceiling.

"Do you understand now?"

"Go… To hell… Braginski," Gilbert panted, begging silently for release.

Ivan cackled as though Prussia had just told a particularly entertaining joke and settled the knife into the deep groove of his spidery lettering.

"I'll take you with me," Russia murmured, almost too low to be heard.

Prussia stared at the grain of the wood floor, a crumpled letter to West, a stray feather, anything to distract from the slippery knife twisting into his back. There was the end of the S…

_Breathe_.

And the U.

_Breathe. Do _not_ gasp. _

The B…

_God, just breathe! It's nothing! You've had so much worse, just breathe, breathe, breathe…_Russia's hand slipped on the M and Gilbert pressed his face into the floor to muffle his scream of pain.

_Breathebreathebreathebreathe…_

And here was the I…

_Hell with it. Don't breathe. Just pass out._And the T.

"Do you know what that spells, Beilschmidt?"

"Sure… Just not as it applies to me," Prussia countered.

"What about our lovely Toris, hm? How do you suppose it applies to him? Since you are getting rather boring…"

"You bastard. This is between us. If you can't even break," he paused to swallow the lump in his throat, "a dissolved Nation, how can you think _he'll_ break?"

Russia pressed their noses together again and smiled, gloveless hands ghosting over his chest. "How do you _think_?" Prussia cringed at the implication and attempted to wriggle out of the icy grip. Ivan's hold was unrelenting and the albino struggled ineffectually for only a moment, collapsing against the table leg. Blood loss was making the world fade in and out of sight and not having a decent meal in weeks wasn't helping.

The sudden appearance of Russia at his side was enough to make him jump, and violet eyes narrowed in amusement, fingers tangling in his too-long hair. Prussia flinched away from the touch but Ivan pulled him into a bloody kiss. Gilbert flailed desperately, and his captor only laughed, cracking his skull against the table.

"How do you _think_?"

The world faded to nothing.

Annnnd, that's it for now. I had originally planned on this being a oneshot, but I figured that six pages was enough for what I hope was a solid chapter. The next installment shifts point-of-view anyways, and I didn't want it to be confusing. So yeah. This will probably end up being two chapters, with perhaps a small third chapter conclusion.

Just… Don't hold your breath for part two. I _am_ working on it, but I'm also working on quite a few other fics. As well as working in general. Which is unfortunate, but hey. Without a summer job, I wouldn't be able to go to France in a year. So it's all good.

Also, just to explain things a bit… In my headcanon, Russia wouldn't call Nations under his rule by their country names, but their human ones. Thus, Prussia is Beilschmidt. Because I don't think they're close enough to do the whole first-name thing.

Anyways, if you'd like to drop a review, that would be splendid. And in return, I'll check out your writing. I can't guarantee I'll read it (I used to, but would run into all sorts of problems like not knowing the fandom) but I will definitely see what you have to offer.

So, till next time!


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again everyone! It's great to see you all again. If this is our first time meeting… Go back and read the first chapter! -shot-

Right. Anyways. Here is chapter two of Hangman. As mentioned before, I shall be switching points-of-view. Back into more familiar territory I go. Prussia, it's been fun.

A lot of fun, actually. I need to write MOAR PRUSSIA.

And in response to any unsigned reviews…

Arin: Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it and hope this chapter continues exceeds your previous fondness for it. Also, your website is rather epic.

Warnings: Blood, violence, language, implied yaoi, creepy Russia, Prussia in general, yandere-ish-ness, use of human names… Sounding a bit familiar? Though in this particular installment, I somehow managed to switch up my verb tenses… Multiple times. Hopefully it isn't terribly noticeable or painful, but I just wanted to give a heads-up.

Disclaimer: _Still_ don't own it. _Still_ using it to take my favorite characters down a few pegs. _Still_ overusing the italics.

Hangman: Chapter Two

A sharp _plink_ reached Lithuania's ears and he grumbled to the vegetables he was patiently chopping.

_Is the roof leaking again?_

Turning to the source of the noise, Toris jumped back in surprise and fright. Russia was leaning against the door frame, blood dripping from his saturated coat and forming a steadily widening puddle on the kitchen floor.

Lithuania bobbed his head nervously in greeting, not entirely sure what to do about the mess. Russia looked… Sleepy? …Content? Maybe it'd be better to try and ignore the pool? But if the stain set into the tile, what then? His stomach fluttered in worry as he realized how long the silence was becoming, broken only by the steady dripping.

_And, God… Whose blood is that?_

The last question seemed to be the most pressing, and Lithuania was a bit disgusted by his priorities. Breathing in shakily, he turned to the other Nation to make the inquiry…

And was met by empty space.

Absently pocketing the paring knife, Lithuania peered into the hallway. Yes, Estonia and Latvia were still doing their dusting rounds, both a bit shakier than usual but otherwise unharmed.

_Thank God._

Mopping up the blood was a revolting task, but not an entirely unusual one, he mused, taking great care not to stain the knees of his uniform. Cringing inwardly once more at his concerns, Toris motioned desperately for one of his brothers to take over, scrambling upstairs as quickly as possible.

_Prussia! How did I forget him?_

Lithuania stumbled into the dissolved Nation's room, boots slipping on the unnaturally smooth floor. Flicking on the solitary desk lamp, Toris gasped at the sight of the man curled at his feet. Reaching out tentatively, he brushed Prussia's hair back from where it was plastered to his face. The albino groaned and squinted at the other country, one hand coming up to meet a ragged gash across his forehead.

"A-are you alright?" It was obvious that he wasn't, but Lithuania was focusing on not being violently ill at the sight of the other man's spine.

"'M gonna kill him," Prussia mumbled through the blood trickling out of his mouth.

Lithuania paled. "Don't… Don't move, okay? …God, Prussia, your _back_. What _happened_?"

Gilbert barked a laugh that disintegrated into a hacking cough and he curled his bruised fingers around the still-sticky table corner. Hauling himself to his feet, Prussia managed a smirk at the Lithuanian before slumping into the brunette's arms.

Toris staggered under the dead weight for a moment before gaining enough leverage to maneuver Prussia around the table amid the man's mumbled protests. Lurching across the room was an ordeal in itself, and Lithuania flopped them both across the unmade bed, attempting to disentangle himself from angular limbs and rumpled sheets.

The blankets already ruined, Lithuania wiped ineffectually at the mess of incisions, hands shaking. Prussia doesn't say a word, something that strikes Toris as deeply unsettling until he realizes that the white-haired man _is_ speaking.

"What did you say?"

Gilbert frowns and repeats, "I… I need your help, dammit."

Lithuania forced a smile. "I _am_ helping you," he reassured the injured man, not pointing out that cuts this deep are more than he can handle, that he's going to have to get Estonia, and Germanic pride means nothing here.

Prussia shakes his head, actually looking nervous. "It's not that. I don't care if you stitch me up or whatever. I can do that myself."

Toris opened his mouth to protest that no, he really _couldn't_, but Gilbert was continuing his request.

"It's just… That bastard wrote something on me. And, I'd fix it, ya know? But I can't," he trailed off, blinking back tears that Lithuania pretended not to see. "I can't reach it, okay? So I need you to write something _else_. Something that'll really piss him off."

Lithuania's false smile dropped immediately. "No. I can't. Not something like this. I'm not holding grudges from the past, but I just _can't_. You don't rebel against Russia. You _don't_."

Prussia's red eyes flashed, suddenly angry. "Do you know _why_ Russia does what he does? Why he tortures and rapes and does God-knows-what-else to you? Because you're a _coward_. Because it's _fun_ to watch you squirm and beg and cry and _know_ that you won't fight back. If you weren't so damn _weak_ you might actually be a threat to him, but no. You don't have any pride. You want to help your brothers, Poland, America, anyone? It's pointless. You're nothing but a liability."

Toris chewed his lip for several moments. "You… You're right," he admitted, face flushed with anger and humiliation. "I'm sorry."

Silence stretched on for an eternity.

"…You know this will solve nothing."

"Ja."

"You don't care." It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer.

"Naw." Prussia had started to slur a bit, and Lithuania knew the man was fading quickly.

"…What am I supposed to write?"

Prussia smiled into the lumpy pillow. "Never."

Cringing inwardly, Lithuania dipped a finger into the congealing blood and swiped a quivering N across Gilbert's neck.

"…What? No."

Lithuania fidgeted, knowing full well what Prussia was going to say next.

"It has to _stay_. Stay longer than the other bit anyways. …Please."

Touching his fingers uneasily to the blade in his pocket, Lithuania rubbed the practice N away.

"…This rebellion is stupid. But that doesn't mean I want to hurt you."

The other man snickered bitterly and grumbled, "You won't. You fought me, remember? I'm stronger than you."

"…No you aren't."

"Am too."

"No you ar- forget it."

"Victory, bitch."

"…Prussia, it's not working."

Gilbert feigned confusion but didn't say a word.

"You're trying to piss me off so I won't feel bad. It's not working. I don't hurt people when I'm angry."

"Oh. I… I'm sorry."

Lithuania shrugged minutely but Prussia could see the sorrow in the lines of his shoulders. "Don't worry about it." The albino caught a glimmer of metal in the dusty yellow light, a paring knife, quivering with the hand that gripped it.

"Can you, uh, not look at me? It makes it worse," Toris mumbled.

Dutifully burying his face in the pillow, Prussia waited on pins and needles for the first strike. A feather-light scratch tickled above the scabbing S and Gilbert frowned.

"Lithuania. I know you're afraid of hurting me, but it's worse if you have to do it twice. Really, I'll be _fine_."

Despite his previous claim, Prussia couldn't stop the gasp of pain as his already shrieking nerves were shredded once more.

Gauging the depth of the cut was all but impossible, and Gilbert was only guessing when he hissed "Deeper," between clenched teeth.

Lithuania frowned and adjusted his grip on the knife, already slick with blood and sweat. Settling his free hand in Prussia's slightly matted hair, Toris mumbled a half-prayer before slicing into the jagged, messy cut as far as the blade's diminutive size would allow.

Not allowing the albino time to react, he drags out the N and E as neatly as he can. The V is going to be difficult, he can see now that the vertex is going to meet directly in Gilbert's spine, but he grits his teeth and cuts to the bone, wondering _what the hell's wrong with me?_

Prussia's agonized cries mix with Toris' mantra of "Sorry, sorry, sorry," in such a clamor that, hating himself, Lithuania presses the other man's face into the sheets in a thoughtless attempt to quiet him down.

And it's the worst idea he's had all day, worse even then agreeing to this rebellion, because Prussia can't _breathe_ and he's terrified and thrashing and _Christ, what do I do…?_

"Prussia!" he hisses frantically, "Prussia, _please_… I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The ex-nation is beyond hearing, gasping for breath and clawing frantically at the bedding which has knotted itself around his arms and neck. He manages to free himself through sheer desperation and flings himself towards the locked window.

Lithuania wraps his arms around him before Gilbert can stand. "Stop! You're alright. I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, just don't move, don't hurt yourself, don't, _please_."

Prussia exhales shakily, forcing himself to relax into Toris' grip. "Air" he explains between breaths. "Need to open the window. It's too hot here."

Prussia is shivering and pale but sweat rolls down the back of his neck and Lithuania wonders for one horrifying instant if the dissolved nation is going into shock.

"I can't unlock the window," Toris mumbles apologetically, glancing at the blood pooling between his chest and Prussia's back. "I need to get Estonia. I can't help you when you're this hurt."

Prussia shakes his head as rapidly as the pounding in his skull allows. "Just finish it," he growls.

Lithuania stares at his trembling hands, forcing them steady with a dozen shaky breaths. "A-alright," he stammers, forcing a neat line to finish the V as Prussia squirms under the blade, determined not to cry out. He moves on to the E, drawing a groan of pain out of the bloodied country. "I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly, pulling the knife free. "I shouldn't be hurting you."

"'S fine. It's good," Prussia reassures him. "Means you're alive, right?" His voice cracks slightly, a result of Toris finishing the E mid-sentence. Despite his assurances, Prussia can't keep a keening whimper from escaping as Lithuania traces out the final letter along his shoulder blade.

"Thank _God_," Toris moans, sliding away from Gilbert. Leaning against the table, he wiped his hands desperately on his jacket, blood soaking through the white shirt underneath as well.

"Prussia?" he asks tentatively, "I can't…" Lithuania pauses to gather his thoughts, everything is lost under a nauseating coating of blood and sweat. "Russia can't see me helping you…"

"Damn straight," Prussia grumbles thickly. "Jus'… Take a different shirt or somethin'."

Toris nods gratefully, glancing at the shirt still crumpled on the cluttered table. He shrugs out of the rough material and fumbles with the buttons of his own shirt before casting that to the floor as well. Reaching for the black fabric, he turns a half-step too far, baring a fraction of his back.

"_Jesus_," Prussia gasps, unable to look away from the scars. Lithuania flinches at the exclamation, tugging the shirt over his head with ashamed swiftness. Face red with mortification, the brunette mumbles an apology hastily, darting towards the door.

"Lithuania!" Gilbert cries in an attempt to stop the other man from leaving. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say anything, but…"

Toris whirls around, humiliated tears tracking down his cheeks. "It's fine, Prussia. No one _means_ to say anything about them. They're disgusting, I know."

"That's not…"

Lithuania shrugs. "It's fine. Please, just stay here… I'm going to get Estonia, so please don't move while I'm gone."

The Lithuanian turns on his heel, striding out of the room without looking at the albino curled under the twisted sheets. Easing the door open, he slips into the hallway, suddenly finding himself nose to chest with a smiling Russia.

And at long last! Here we have the conclusion of chapter two. Uber-apologies for this taking so long… It's quite silly really.

Anyways. Next chapter is where the action picks up, and then we'll probably have a wee little epilogue.

So yeah. Thanks for reading, and we'll catch you next time!


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